Chapter Text
Kankuro makes it to Suna in record time. Over the years, he and Kiba have made the journey again and again, so much that they’ve turned it into an art form. Even making friends at different stops along the way. But this time he’s travelled all through the night, and much of the morning, without stopping and it’s safe to say he stumbles through the door of Gaara’s office in an absolute state. He’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes and yesterday’s makeup but if Gaara is startled, he doesn’t show it. Instead he stands and gestures for Kankuro to sit on his most recent addition to the room; a brand-new green couch. Kankuro throws himself down onto it, just as Gaara follows to sit beside him.
“Kankuro, have you been crying?” Gaara asks so calmly, and Kankuro is so exhausted.
“Yes…Dammit. Yeah,” he curses like he hadn’t crossed the desert in half the time just to talk to his baby brother about his problems. “I had a fight. With Kiba.” And seeing the small crease of confusion in his brother’s brow, he adds “Because he doesn’t want to marry me.” With Gaara, it’s best to just explain everything clearly, although even his disconnected brother was able to tell that something was wrong by his appearance.
“And…he made you cry.” Kankuro isn’t looking when he hears this, but the tone of his voice is one that has him tensing involuntarily. He remembers a hint of that tone from childhood.
“You’re not allowed to kill him, Gaara,” he blurts out while turning to face him. “I’ll definitely cry more if you sand-coffin his ass.” His brother’s eyes are closed, and his mouth is crinkled in displeasure. Gaara’s developed a habit of folding his arms in meetings when he’s annoyed at something, and Kankuro can see he’s doing it now. Even Gaara can sense his distress.
And he is in distress. Kiba’s spiteful words still cut deep, and he wonders if leaving was the right thing to do. Maybe he should have stayed and talked. Instead, he’d run like a coward. Kiba was just being dumb, like he’s been countless times before, but the truth behind his words had hurt this time. Really hurt. And he just needed...time. He needed a distraction, to clear his head. There’s no way he was abandoning Kiba, he just needed to collect his thoughts.
But his thoughts were catching up with him faster than he expected. What if Kiba thought they were over? Kankuro remembers his own words. You saved me from marriage before, allow me to save you from this one. Did that sound final? Oh, thinking back now, after he’s had over a day to run, he didn’t mean that at all. Did Kiba think they’ve broken up? He sits up abruptly and swears. He didn’t want to break up. He needed to-
“Fine. I won’t kill him,” Gaara says, interrupting his spiralling thoughts. “But I can sense you need a distraction. Would you be able to advise me with a situation I’ve found myself in?” He doesn’t give Kankuro the option to decline as he swivels his body to sit sideways in the most uncharacteristically casual move Kankuro’s ever seen Gaara make. Unconsciously he mirrors the position, resting his own arm on the back of the couch. They look like school girls gossiping about cute boys and Gaara even goes as far as to twiddle his thumbs awkwardly.
“What’s going on?!” He eyes the room suspiciously, as if Temari is about to jump out from behind one of the large plants and tell him he’s being pranked. Gaara doesn’t do anything awkwardly.
And never one to beat around the bush, Gaara seemed to stall and stutter before finally he says “Do you remember when I was supposed to marry…and you took my place instead?” Kankuro is aghast.
“I mean…yeah? Kinda was a formative experience for me…why?” Kankuro is confused, but he can sense this is leading somewhere important. He leans forward. Gaara leans back.
“Oh…you need to wash, Kankuro,” he informs monotonously, ignoring Kankuro’s scoff of offence in reply. “Well,” he continues. “Do you remember when you told me that you didn’t think…I would be suitable…as a father?”
Regret is a strange emotion. It’s pain, anger and shame all slathered like poison over a kunai which lodges itself deeply in your gut. Kankuro feels this now. He regrets saying the words years back in this very office, regrets that he felt he had to and regrets never telling Gaara otherwise in the aftermath. He realises now that the strangeness of his brother's behaviour this afternoon was him experiencing doubt. And doubt seeded by none other than Kankuro himself.
“I’m sorry,” he says, leaning in again despite Gaara’s aversion to his stench. He makes sure to catch his brother’s eyes as he clarifies. “I lied. I lied about it so you wouldn’t get married.”
The frown is back on Gaara’s brow. “You lied? How do you know you lied? It is not the truth? Is it not true?”
“No, Gaara. I made it all up. Because I wanted to protect you and your life and your choices.” He wraps his hand firmly around Gaara’s shoulder. “I said those things, because I was a dickhead and I felt that you would try to protect me as much as I was trying to protect you. I knew it would hurt you, but the alternative, that you would lose out on finding true love, that your life would once again be controlled and engineered…I didn’t want you to go through that. I wanted you to find love, real love. Not the arranged kind. So I said those things, to put you off. And, I’m really sorry I never told you. To be honest, you’ll make a great father some day. You’re the most patient person I know, and Shikadai loves hanging out with you. Way more than he likes me if I’m being honest.”
Gaara, who was quietly staring at Kankuro for his entire speech, simply grasps his own chin lightly and says “Yes, I suppose you are right. Shikadai has told me I’m his favourite uncle.” He appears contemplative.
“Yeah, exactly. Wait. I was just being nice there. Shikadai actually said that? Why, that little brat! See if he gets any presents off me next time I visit Konoha.” There’s a hint of a smile on Gaara's face. “Oh wait, you’re joking, aren’t you?”
“Am I?” Gaara’s tone is wry. “You did say I’d make a great uncle, Kankuro.”
“Oh so now we’re going to hold this over me. I’m sorry, but if you’re making jokes then I’m going to consider myself forgiven.” Kankuro folds his arms in a huff and leans back onto the couch again. He’s expecting Gaara to say more, he knows there’s got to be more to this. The silence ticks over, and it’s just when he’s about to demand he spit it out, his brother decides then and there to blow Kankuro’s mind.
“I adopted a son.”
Five seconds pass in silence.
“His name’s Shinki,” Gaara adds. Kankuro just turns to look at his brother with wide eyes. “He’s very powerful. And I…think I can help him. He reminds me of me, when I was that age.” Gaara is twiddling his thumbs again. “I haven’t told Temari yet.”
Kankuro just breathes out in awe. “You’re a dad.”
“Father,” he corrects. “I’ll go by Father.”
“I can’t even get my boyfriend to marry me and you’re a father now. And you told me before Temari,” he adds gleefully. He grabs his little brother in a headlock. He’s never tried it before, but if there’s anytime to do it, it might as well be now. “You have a baby!”
“He’s five years old.”
“A baby boy! Gaara, this is great news! I’m an uncle again!” He gasps loudly. “And I’ll be your son’s favourite uncle because I’m his only uncle!”
“…Wouldn’t Shikamaru and Kiba count?”
“Well, maybe I just won’t get back with Kiba and he’ll definitely not count.” And as soon as he says it, he realises how wrong the words feel. And he glumly releases Gaara from the headlock. His brother’s hair is all tousled, but he doesn’t bother to smooth it down as he turns to face him again.
“Have you two separated?”
“Kind of,” he starts. “Well, no. I sorta implied like we had. But I don’t want to. He just said some really dumb things like I said, and I got mad, and then I got sad. I remembered you asked me to come this weekend, I assume now to talk about your stork delivery-“
“-Shinki was not delivered by stork. He attacked me.-”
“- and so I left to get out of there. Wait, what? This kid attacked you?”
“My son did, yes. He is very powerful.” If Kankuro didn’t know any better, he would say Gaara was proud of the little tike managing to challenge the Kazekage.
“Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, eh?”
Gaara eyes him curiously. “We are not blood-related, Kankuro.”
He rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”
“‘Obviously’?”
Kankuro grins. “I mean, unless Bowlcut has managed to squat his way to forming a uterus, then I’d very much doubt that Shinki is biologically yours. Although, considering Lee’s tenacity, it really wouldn’t surprise me.”
Gaara can’t even hide the blush that simmers to the surface of his ears and cheeks, so he stands instead and returns to his desk. “Please continue your story about Inuzuka-san.”
“You got me there. Well,” he continues. “Kiba has never wanted to marry. It’s to do with his parents. And it’s a totally valid reason. But yesterday, we got into an argument when I told him that the council still tried to set me up. But before that this River Lord’s son tried hitting on me in front of Kiba and basically said if I wasn’t married I was as good as single. Kiba got mad, and we argued about it when we got home. I mean, I could totally have just told that River Lord that I was in a committed relationship. But, I froze…I guess. And then in the middle of the argument, I left. Like a coward.”
“So, you want to get married?”
“No! Well, yes. But not if Kiba’s doesn’t want to! I’m totally fine with not being married. I just want the commitment, I suppose. I just always have this lingering doubt at the back of my mind that he just doesn’t want to marry me. That I’m the problem.”
“But he loves you,” Gaara says. And it isn’t a question. His brother studies him with surety in his expression as if he had just stated that the sky is blue and the desert is dry. “Kiba would never want to part from you.”
“I know,” admits Kankuro and looks down at his hands. They’re still smudged with purple face paint. “And I’m the same. It’s enough for me, Gaara. It really is. Just to have him. And I don’t need a ring on my finger. I just need a duty of care. I need a promise. And a promise that he trusts me. Yesterday…I felt like he didn’t trust me. And I think that hurt the most. I would never force him to do something he wouldn’t want to do, especially when what we have is more than enough. Our life together. It’s more than I ever imagined for myself. And more than I ever dreamed of.”
Kankuro hears scribbling and looks back up to see that sometime while he was baring his feelings, Gaara has returned to the writing mission scrolls that had been on desk when he’d barged in. “Wow, Gaara. Rude.”
“You need to shower,” Gaara responds. He signs the mission scroll and a wisp of sand brushes over it to dry the ink. “Return here to meet my son, before you go back to Episar and tell Inuzuka-san exactly what you just told me. And take this scroll to him while you’re heading there. I have a mission I need his expertise for.”
“Huh? That’s it? I practically fly here and you just tell me to take a shower and fuck off? Gee thanks, Gaara,” he complains as he swipes the mission scroll from his brother’s hands. “And act as a delivery man too while you’re at it.” He secured the scroll on his belt. “I’ll be back in twenty to meet this cute nephew of mine and you know what? I’m gonna uncle the shit outta your kid, you watch, he’ll be swinging puppets around before his next birthday. I’ll be the best uncle ever.”
“…But Shikadai already declared that position to be mine.”
“No, he didn’t! And if you keep insisting, then I’ll tell Temari you introduced your first born son to me before she even knew he existed!”
Gaara narrows his eyes. “…You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” he snarls. He marches out of the office and teleports to the barracks for a much needed shower. He can rest later. He’s got family to meet.
—
He always thought that the sight of Kiba on his knees with an honest-to-god ring and a question would be one that would fill him with overwhelming joy. Instead he feels concerned, he can see the dark circles beneath Kiba’s eyes, the stains on his crumbled sleep shirt and the limpness of his hair. This feels like a desperate act, and Kankuro doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want Kiba to ever feel like he had no other choice. So he follows Kiba to the ground and tries to ever so softly say the word he needs to say.
“No.”
Kiba’s face falls, as if he’s slipped right through Kankuro’s fingers where they cup his face in his hands. But Kankuro holds strong, titling Kiba’s face up before they can slide away to look somewhere less painful. “I mean I don’t want this for us. I don’t want you to feel like you have to propose to keep me. Honestly, I’m yours. I always will be, and I don’t need a wedding to prove that. You’re enough. Your word is enough. Please believe me.” Tears brim in Kiba’s eyes.
“But...you deserve to be happy.” He is trying to look away again, but Kankuro doesn’t allow him.
“I am happy. I have a wonderful life. I have clever dogs, and not so clever dogs. No offence, Burger. I have a warm home and a handsome, hot and sexy boyfriend whom I love, and who loves...me?“ The final part of that sentence filters out and Kankuro has the audacity to look away shyly himself.
“Oh my god, Kankuro are you seriously doubting whether I love you right now? I am literally on my knees asking you to marry me. I love you so much I would do it right now-“ Lips against his cut him off, and Kiba brings his hands up to wrap around Kankuro’s wrists where his hands are clutching too tightly and squishing his cheeks together. When he pulls back he laughs at the smushed face Kiba is making and drops his hands to wrap around his waist and pull him into a tight hug instead.
“Thank you, but we’re forever,” he whispers into Kiba’s ear. “I don’t want a ring to tell me that. I want you to tell me that. Every day. For the rest of our lives.”
When Kiba wraps his arms around his neck, Kankuro feels what must be the opposite of the regret he’d become accustomed to in the past two days. Relief soothes where his remorse had ached, as if Kiba himself is a balm on his conscience. He doesn’t believe in soulmates, or The One, or that you’re destined to be with something. That’s all a load of bullshit as far as he is concerned. But in that moment he understands where those romantic notions have come from, as it feels like his entire existence has shifted into place. And his place is right there on the entryway floor, with Kiba’s warm body so real beneath his hands.
He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, perhaps a few seconds, minutes or hours. Or even when Kiba, sensing his exhaustion, had manhandled him from the floor and undressed them to lay in their bed. They cling to each other, alternating between periods of smiling, gazing and idle kissing. It’s intimate. It’s sickeningly sweet. And it’s perfect. He’s dropping off to sleep with Kiba’s head a welcome weight on his chest. Until abruptly it isn’t.
Kiba’s gone to the kitchen, and even though they haven’t not touched in the past few hours, Kankuro feels his absence viscerally. He’s not embarrassed to say he lets out a loud groan of annoyance, which Kiba responds to with a bark of laughter from where he’s already returned to the bedroom door. He’s fiddling with some things in his hands. It’s dark so he turns on the bedside lamp and they both hiss at the glare. The dogs lying with them on the bed grumble and Jelly wiggles onto his back. They aren’t happy their owners are up at two am. Kiba’s shape is hazy at the bedside until suddenly there’s a leg looping over his abdomen and Kiba is straddling him.
Well, if he wasn’t awake before, he certainly is now.
“Here,” Kiba says as Kankuro sits up on his elbows with interest. “I want you to wear this anyway.”
The cream ambient light of the lamp bounces off the dark metal of the ring. Kiba has robbed some puppet string from his supplies and wrapped it around to make a long necklace. Kankuro sits up with an ache in his heart that he’s unable to achieve the impossible of loving this man more. He nods, knowing that he’s choked up and it would be embarrassing for him to speak now. So Kiba takes it upon himself to loop the chord over his head and press the ring securely over his heart. It’s metal is cold against his skin, but he knows that it will be warm within minutes.
He studies the ring as he rests his hands on Kiba’s hips in awe. “It k-kinda feels like you're staking a claim.”
“I am,” says Kiba leaning forward until his lips are skirting up against Kankuro’s own. His breath feels hot against him, suddenly evaporating his remaining exhaustion. “You’re mine,” Kiba growls as he clamps his legs hard into Kankuro’s sides and presses him back into the mattress with his insistent lips alone. They’re moving together tightly now, with Kankuro’s hands seeking Kiba’s warmth across his back. He longs to feel him, it’s been days, and he can feel Kiba’s own need pressing up against his-
“Wait,” says Kankuro, as he pulls apart from Kiba with a loud smack. “What is that?” He reaches between them and pulls out the mission scroll Gaara had given him the previous day. He’d forgotten. He groans with frustration before handing it to Kiba, who’s sat back again. “It’s for you, from Gaara. He has a mission for you.”
“Oh yeah, I saw it,” Kiba pouts his own annoyance. “But it’s got both our names on it, that’s why I brought it in here.” Kankuro sits up again in curiosity. He hadn’t even inspected the scroll, too focused on crossing the desert twice in as many days.
“Both of us?” Gaara hadn’t mentioned that. They’d gotten joint missions before, but he was usually briefed beforehand. “Open it.”
Kiba breaks the seal and unrolls the document while Kankuro waits patiently for him to relay its contents. Meanwhile, he impatiently rolls his hips under Kiba once again but is peeved when he gets no response. Kiba is still reading the scroll, with disbelieving eyes and suddenly, a wide smile. “Oh my god, what even is your brother?”
“Let me see,” he says and Kiba bends for him to read the document.
Date: 90-02-20
Rank: S
Shinobi assigned: Kankuro of the Desert (Sunagakure, Episar) and Inuzuka Kiba (Konohagakure, Episar)
By order of: Gaara, the Fifth Kazekage
Mission Targets:
- Love one another. In an official capacity. As ordered by your Kazekage.
Duration: Until death.
“Gaara, what the fuck?” chokes out Kankuro. He reaches for scroll in astonishment. “This is literally insane. That meddling little bastard.” Kiba is still giggling above him.
“I’m going to frame this,” he says, holding the scroll out of Kankuro’s reach. “Do you accept the mission, Kankuro? It’s a direct order from the Kazekage.” His grin is mischievous, and followed by a harsh grind down into Kankuro’s lap.
“Fuck,” sighs Kankuro, closing his eyes. This is perhaps the easiest mission he’d ever complete. “Fuck, yesss.”
Kiba leans down to kiss him again, and Kankuro repeats the question back to him in between hot breaths. “Do you-hah-do you—accept?”
He feels Kiba smile against his lips. “I do,” he whispers. And it sounds like a promise.